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4  I 


THE   PILGRIM  AND  OTHER   POEMS 


THE   PILGRIM 


AND  OTHER   POEMS 


BY 


SOPHIE    JEWETT 

(ELLEN  BURROUGHS) 


Ncto  f|otfc 
MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 

1896 
All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
Bv  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


NortoooB  ^rtSB 

J.  S.  CushinR  k  Co.  —  Berwick  *  Smith 
Norwood  Mu*.  I'.S.A. 


H.    H.    H. 


CONTENTS 


I.    THE  PILGRIM 3 

II.     SONNETS  : 

The  Soldier 9 

A  Friendship .10 

Separation II 

Absent .12 

Thus  Far     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .13 

Thoughts     ........       14 

Christmas 15 

Sidney  Lanier      .         .         .         .         .         .         .16 

III.     RONDEAUS  : 

If  Spirits  walk     .......       19 

I  saw  Love's  Eyes 20 

Across  the  Fields .21 

I  speak  your  Name .22 

Mignonne    . 23 


viii  CONTENT 

IV.    SONGS  :  'AGE 

Armistice 27 

Even-Song 28 

Song 29 

Song 3° 

Song 32 

Song 33 

Song 35 

Songs  from  an  Unprintecl  Poem.     I.,  II.      .         .  36 

Bud  and  Rose.     For  a  Child        ....  38 

A  Winter  Song 39 

V.    OTHER  LYRICS: 

White  Head 43 

Vespers 46 

Gabriel 49 

Though  unseen 50 

Sangraal 51 

When  Nature  hath  betrayed  the  Heart  that  loved 

her 52 

In  April 53 

A  Land  Wind 54 

At  Sea 55 

February •  5^ 

Ghosts 57 


CONTENTS  ix 

OTHER  LYRICS  {continued}  -.  PAGE 

Sleep 58 

The  Watcher  and  the  Wind         ....  59 

The  Madonna      .......  60 

Pan   and  Psyche.     (A  painting  by  Sir  Edward 

Burne-Jones)         ......  62 

A  Smiling  Demon  of  Notre  Dame        ...  64 

The  Common  Chord    ......  66 

Destiny 67 

River  and  Bird .68 

A  Journey  ........  70 

A  Dream     ........  72 

Sidney  Lanier      .......  73 

Entre  Nous 74 

Communion         .......  75 

The  Rider 76 

A  Greeting  ........  77 

From  Over-Sea 79 

To  — 81 

April.     From  the  French  of  Remy  Belleau  .         .  82 

Metempsychosis -83 

A  Letter 86 

Venice  in  April   .......  89 

To-day's  Daughter.     Written  for  the  Graduating 

Class  at  Smith  College,  June,  1885        .         .  93 


THE    PILGRIM 


THE   PILGRIM 

"  Such  a  palmer  ne'er  was  scene, 
Lesse  Love  himselfe  had  palmer  beene." 

Never  too  Late. 

Pilgrim  feet,  pray  whither  bound? 
Pilgrim  eyes,  pray  whither  bent? 
Sandal-shod  and  travel-gowned, 
Lo,  I  seek  the  way  they  went 
Late  who  passed  toward  Holy  Land. 

Pilgrim,  it  was  long  ago ; 
None  remains  who  saw  that  band ; 
Grass  and  forest  overgrow 
Every  path  their  footing  wore. 
Men  are  wise ;   they  seek  no  more 
Roads  that  lead  to  Holy  Land. 

Proud  his  look,  as  who  should  say : 
I  shall  find  where  lies  the  way. 

Pilgrim,  thou  art  fair  of  face, 
Staff  and  scrip  are  not  for  thee ; 
3 


THE  PILGRIM 

Gentle  pilgrim,  of  thy  grace, 
Leave  thy  quest,  and  bide  with  me. 
Love  shall  serve  thee,  joy  shall  bless; 
Thou  wert  made  for  tenderness  : 
God's  green  world  is  fair  and  sweet ; 
Not  o'er  sea  and  Eastern  strand, 
But  where  friend  and  lover  meet 
Lies  the  way  to  Holy  Land. 

Low  his  voice,  his  lashes  wet : 
One  day  if  God  will —  not  yet. 

Pilgrim,  pardon  me  and  heed. 
Men  of  old  who  took  that  way 
Went  for  fame  of  goodly  deed, 
Or,  if  sooth  the  stories  say, 
Sandalled  priest,  or  knight  in  selle, 
Flying  each  in  pain  and  hate, 
Harassed  by  stout  fiends  of  hell, 
Sought  his  crime  to  expiate. 
Prithee,  Pilgrim,  go  not  hence  ; 
Clear  thy  brow,  and  white  thy  hand, 
What  shouldst  thou  with  penitence? 
Wherefore  seek  to  Holy  Land? 


THE  PILGRIM 

Stern  the  whisper  on  his  lip  : 
Sin  and  shame  are  in  my  scrip. 

Pilgrim,  pass,  since  it  must  be ; 
Take  thy  staff,  and  have  thy  will ; 
Prayer  and  love  shall  follow  thee ; 
I  will  watch  thee  o'er  the  hill. 
What  thy  fortune  God  doth  know; 
By  what  paths  thy  feet  must  go. 
Far  and  dim  the  distance  lies, 
Yet  my  spirit  prophesies  : 
Not  in  vigil  lone  and  late, 
Bowed  upon  the  tropic  sand, 
But  within  the  city  gate, 
In  the  struggle  of  the  street, 
Suddenly  thine  eyes  shall  meet 
His  whose  look  is  Holy  Land. 

Smiled  the  pilgrim,  sad  and  sage  : 
Long  must  be  my  pilgrimage. 


SONNETS 


THE   SOLDIER 

"Non  vi  si  pensa  quanto  sangue  costa." 

Paradise  xxix.  91. 

THE  soldier  fought  his  battle  silently. 

Not  his  the  strife  that  stays  for  set  of  sun ; 

It  seemed  this  warfare  never  might  be  done ; 

Through  glaring  day  and  blinding  night  fought  he. 
There  came  no  hand  to  help,  no  eye  to  see ; 

No  herald's  voice  proclaimed  the  fight  begun  • 

No  trumpet,  when  the  bitter  field  was  won, 

Sounded  abroad  the  soldier's  victory. 
As  if  the  struggle  had  been  light,  he  went, 

Gladly,  life's  common  road  a  little  space  ; 

Nor  any  knew  how  his  heart's  blood  was  spent ; 
Yet  there  were  some  who  after  testified 

They  saw  a  glory  grow  upon  his  face  ; 

And  all  men  praised  the  soldier  when  he  died. 


A   FRIENDSHIP 

SMALL  fellowship  of  daily  commonplace 
We  hold  together,  dear,  constrained  to  go 
Diverging  ways.     Yet  day  by  day  I  know 
My  life  is  sweeter  for  thy  life's  sweet  grace  ; 

And  if  we  meet  but  for  a  moment's  space, 

Thy  touch,  thy  word,  sets  all  the  world  aglow. 
Faith  soars  serener,  haunting  doubts  shrink  low, 
Abashed  before  the  sunshine  of  thy  face. 

Nor  press  of  crowd,  nor  waste  of  distance  serves 
To  part  us.     Every  hush  of  evening  brings 
Some  hint  of  thee,  true-hearted  friend  of  mine  ; 

And  as  the  farther  planet  thrills  and  swerves 

When  towards  it  through  the  darkness  Saturn  swings, 
Even  so  my  spirit  feels  the  spell  of  thine. 


SEPARATION 

ALONG  the  Eastern  shore  the  low  waves  creep, 
Making  a  ceaseless  music  on  the  sand, 
A  song  that  gulls  and  curlews  understand, 

The  lullaby  that  sings  the  day  to  sleep. 

A  thousand  miles  afar,  the  grim  pines  keep 
Unending  watch  upon  a  shoreless  land, 
Yet  through  their  tops,  swept  by  some  wizard  hand, 

The  sound  of  surf  comes  singing  up  the  steep. 

Sweet,  thou  canst  hear  the  tidal  litany  ; 

I,  mid  the  pines  land-wearied,  may  but  dream 
Of  the  far  shore  ;  but  though  the  distance  seem 

Between  us  fixed,  impassable,  to  me 

Cometh  thy  soul's  voice,  chanting  love's  old  theme, 

And  mine  doth  answer,  as  the  pines  the  sea. 


ii 


ABSENT 

MY  friend,  I  need  thee  in  good  days  or  ill, 
I  need  the  counsel  of  thy  larger  thought ; 
And  I  would  question  all  the  year  has  brought  — 

What  spoil  of  books,  what  victories  of  will ; 

But  most  I  long  for  the  old  wordless  thrill, 

When  on  the  shore,  like  children  picture-taught, 
We  watched  each  miracle  the  sweet  day  wrought, 

While  the  tide  ebbed,  and  every  wind  was  still. 

Dear,  let  it  be  again  as  if  we  mused, 

We  two,  with  never  need  of  spoken  word 

(While  the  sea's  fingers  twined  among  the  dulse, 
And  gulls  dipped  near),  our  spirits  seeming  fused 
In  the  great  Life  that  quickens  wave  and  bird, 
Our  hearts  in  happy  rhythm  with  the  world-pulse. 


12 


THUS  FAR 

BECAUSE  my  life  has  lain  so  close  to  thine, 
Because  our  hearts  have  kept  a  common  beat, 
Because  thine  eyes  turned  towards  me  frank  and 
sweet, 

Reveal  sometimes  thine  untold  thoughts  to  mine, 

Think  not  that  I,  by  curious  design, 
Or  over-step  of  too  impetuous  feet, 
Could  desecrate  thy  soul's  supreme  retreat, 

Could  disregard  its  quivering  barrier-line. 

Only  a  simple  Levite,  I,  who  stand 

On  the  world's  side  of  the  most  holy  place, 

Till,  as  the  new  day  glorifies  the  east, 
One  come  to  lift  the  veil  with  reverent  hand, 
And  enter  with  thy  soul's  soul  face  to  face, — 
He  whom  thy  God  shall  call  to  be  high  priest. 


THOUGHTS 

THE  morning  brought  a  stranger  to  my  door. 
I  know  not  whence  such  feet  as  his  may  stray, 
From  what  still  heights,  along  what  star-set  way. 
A  child  he  seemed,  yet  my  eyes  fell  before 

His  eyes  Olympian.     I  did  implore 
Him  enter,  linger  but  one  golden  day 
To  bless  my  house.     He  passed,  he  might  not  stay, 
And  though  I  call  with  tears,  he  comes  no  more. 

At  noon  there  stole  a  beggar  to  my  gate, 
Of  subtle  tongue,  the  porter  he  beguiled. 
His  creeping,  evil  steps  my  house  defiled. 

I  flung  him  scornful  alms,  I  bade  him  straight 
To  leave  me.     Swift  he  clutched  my  fee  and  smiled, 
Yet  went  not  forth,  nor  goes,  despite  my  hate. 


CHRISTMAS 

THE  Christmas  bells  ring  discord  overhead ; 

The  Christmas  lights  flash  cold  across  the  snow ; 

The  angel-song  fell  silent  long  ago ; 

Nor  seer,  nor   silly  shepherd  comes,  star-led, 

To  kneel  to-night  beside  a  baby's  bed. 

Peace  is  not  yet,  and  wrong  and  want  and  woe 

Cry  in  the  city  streets,  and  love  is  slow, 

And  sin  is  sleek  and  swift  and  housed  and  fed. 

Dear  Lord,  our  faith   is  faint,  our   hearts  are   sore ; 

Our  prayers  are  as  complaints,  our  songs  as  cries ; 

Fain  would  we  hear  the  angel-voice  once  more, 
And  see  the  Star  still  lead  along  the  skies; 

Fain  would,  like  sage  and  simple  folk  of  yore, 

Watch  where  the  Christ-child  smiles  in  Mary's  eyes. 


SIDNEY   LANIER 
DIED  SEPTEMBER  7,  1881 

THE  Southwind  brought  a  voice ;    was  it  of  bird  ? 

Or  faint-blown  reed?  or  string  that  quivered  long? 

A  haunting  voice  that  woke  into  a  song 
Sweet  as  a  child's  low  laugh,  or  lover's  word. 
We  listened  idly  till  it  grew  and  stirred 

With  throbbing  chords  of  joy,  of  love,  of  wrong ; 

A  mighty  music,  resonant  and  strong; 
Our  hearts  beat  higher  for  that  voice  far-heard. 

The   Southwind  brought  a  shadow,  purple-dim, 
It  swept  across  the  warm  smile  of  the  sun ; 

A  sudden  shiver  passed  on  field  and  wave ; 
The  grasses  grieved  along  the  river's  brim. 

We  knew  the  voice  was  silent,  the  song  done ; 
We  knew  the  shadow  smote  across  a  grave. 


RONDEAUS 


"IF   SPIRITS  WALK" 
i 

"  I  have  heard  (but  not  believed)  the  spirits  of  the  dead 
May  walk  again."  Winter's  Tale. 

IF  spirits  walk,  Love,  when  the  night  climbs  slow 
The  slant  footpath  where  we  were  wont  to  go, 
Be  sure  that  I  shall  take  the  self-same  way 
To  the  hill-crest,  and  shoreward,  down  the  gray, 
Sheer,  gravelled  slope,  where  vetches  straggling  grow. 

Look  for  me  not  when  gusts  of  winter  blow, 
When  at  thy  pane  beat  hands  of  sleet  and  snow ; 
I  would  not  come  thy  dear  eyes  to  affray, 
If  spirits  walk. 

But  when,  in  June,  the  pines  are  whispering  low, 
And  when  their  breath  plays  with  thy  bright  hair  so 
As  some  one's  fingers  once  were  used  to  play  — 
That  hour  when   birds   leave   song,   and   children 

pray, 

Keep  the  old  tryst,  sweetheart,  and  thou  shall  know 

If  spirits  walk. 

19 


I   SAW   LOVE'S  EYES 

I  SAW  Love's  eyes,  I  saw  Love's  crowned  hair ; 
I  heard  Love's  voice,  a  song  across  the  air ; 

The  glad-of-heart  were  of  Love's  royal  train ; 

Sweet-throated  heralds  cried  his  endless  reign, 
And  where  his  garment  swept,  the  earth  grew  fair. 

Along  Love's  road  one  walked  whose  feet  were  bare 
And  bleeding ;  no  complaint  he  made,  nor  prayer, 
Yet  dim  and  wistful  as  a  child's  in  pain 
I  saw  Love's  eyes. 

I  groped  with  Love  where  shadow  lay,  and  snare ; 
I  climbed  with  Love  the  icy  mountain  stair ; 

The  wood  was  dark,  the  height  was  hard  to  gain ; 
The   birds    were    songless    and    the    flowers    were 

slain  ; 

Yet  brave  alway  above  my  heart's  despair 
I  saw  Love's  eyes. 


20 


ACROSS  THE   FIELDS 

ACROSS  the  fields,  the  happy  fields  that  lay 
Unfaded  yet,  one  visionary  day 

We  walked  together,  and  the  world  was  sweet. 

Each  heard  the  whisper  neither  might  repeat, 
Love's  whisper  underneath  our  light  word-play. 

When    fields    were    brown,   when    skies    hung    close 

and  gray, 
Alone  I  walked  the  dear  familiar  way, 

With  eager  heart,  with  hurrying  love-led  feet, 
Across  the  fields. 

O  life  that  hath  so  bitter  words  to  say  ! 
O  heart  so  sore  impatient  of  delay  ! 

O  wistful  hands  that  reach  and  may  not  meet ! 

O  eyes  that  yearn  for  answering  eyes  to  greet  1 
The  summer  comes.     It  wins  me  not  to  stray 
Across  the  fields. 


21 


I   SPEAK   YOUR   NAME 

I  SPEAK  your  name  in  alien  ways,  while  yet 
November  smiles  from  under  lashes  wet. 
In  the  November  light  I  see  you  stand 
Who  love  the  fading  woods  and  withered  land, 
Where  Peace  may  walk,  and  Death,  but  not  Regret. 

The  year  is  slow  to  alter  or  forget ; 
June's  glow  and  autumn's  tenderness  are  met. 
Across  the  months  by  this  swift  sunlight  spanned, 
I  speak  your  name. 

Because  I  loved  your  golden  hair,  God  set 
His  sea  between  our  eyes.     I  may  not  fret, 

For,  sure  and  strong,  to  meet  my  soul's  demand, 
Comes  your  soul's  truth,  more  near  than  hand  in 

hand; 

And  low  to  God,  who  listens,  Margaret, 
I  speak  your  name. 


MIGNONNE 

FOURTEENTH   CENTURY    FORM 

MIGNONNE,  whose  face  bends  low  for  my  caressing, 
New  and  unknown  to-night  thy  beauty  seemeth ; 
Dimly  I  read  thine  eyes  as  one  who  dreameth. 

The  moonlight  yester-eve  fell  soft  in  blessing, 

That  coldly  now  across  thy  bright  hair  gleameth; 

Mignonne,  whose  face  bends  low  for  my  caressing, 
New  and  unknown  to-night  thy  beauty  seemeth. 

As  penitent,  low-voiced,  his  sins  confessing, 

Pleads  where  the  light  of  the  high  altar  streameth, 
I  speak  to  thee,  whose  love  my  love  redeemeth. 

Mignonne,  whose  face  bends  low  for  my  caressing, 
New  and  unknown  to-night  thy  beauty  seemeth ; 
Dimly  I  read  thine  eyes  as  one  who  dreameth. 


SONGS 


ARMISTICE 

THE  water  sings  along  our  keel, 

The  wind  falls  to  a  whispering  breath ; 

I  look  into  your  eyes  and  feel 
No  fear  of  life  or  death ; 

So  near  is  love,  so  far  away 

The  losing  strife  of  yesterday. 

We  watch  the  swallow  skim  and  dip ; 

Some  magic  bids  the  world  be  still ; 
Life  stands  with  finger  upon  lip ; 

Love  hath  his  gentle  will ; 

Though  hearts  have  bled,  and  tears  have  burned, 
The  river  floweth  unconcerned. 

We  pray  the  fickle  flag  of  truce 

Still  float  deceitfully  and  fair ; 
Our  eyes  must  love  its  sweet  abuse ; 

This  hour  we  will  not  care, 
Though  just  beyond  to-morrow's  gate, 
Arrayed  and  strong,  the  battle  wait. 
27 


EVEN-SONG 

COME,  O  Love,  while  the  far  stars  whiten, 
Gathering,  growing,  momently ; 

Thou,  who  art  star  of  stars,  to  lighten 
One  dim  heart  that  waiteth  thee. 

Speak,  O  Love,  for  the  silence  presses, 
Bowing  my  spirit  like  a  fear ; 

Thou,  whose  words  are  as  caresses, 
Sweet,  sole  voice  that  I  long  to  hear. 


28 


SONG 

THY  face  I  have  seen  as  one  seeth 

A  face  in  a  dream, 
Soft  drifting  before  me  as  drifteth 

A  leaf  on  the  stream : 
A  face  such  as  evermore  fleeth 

From  following  feet, 
A  face  such  as  hideth  and  shifteth 

Evasive  and  sweet. 

Thy  voice  I  have  heard  as  one  heareth 

Afar  and  apart, 
The  wood-thrush  that  rapturous  poureth 

The  song  of  his  heart ; 
Who  heedeth  is  blest,  but  who  neareth 

In  wary  pursuit, 
May  see  where  the  singer  upsoareth, 

The  forest  is  mute. 


29 


SONG 

"  O  LOVE,  thou  art  winged  and  swift, 

Yet  stay  with  me  evermore  !  " 
And  I  guarded  my  house  with  bolt  and  bar 

Lest  Love  fly  forth  at  the  door. 

Without,  in  the  world,  'twas  cold, 

While  Love  and  I  together 
Laughed  and  sang  by  my  red  hearth- fire, 

Nor  knew  it  was  winter  weather. 

Sweet  Love  would  lull  me  to  sleep, 

In  his  tireless  arm  caressed ; 
His  shadowing  wings  and  burning  eyes 

Like  night  and  stars  wrought  rest. 

And  ever  the  beat  of  Love's  heart 

As  a  chime  rang  at  my  ear ; 
And  ever  Love's  bending,  beautiful  face 

Covered  me  close  from  fear. 
30 


SONG  31 

Was  it  long  ere  I  waked  alone? 

A  snow-drift  whitened  the  floor; 
I  saw  spent  ashes  upon  my  hearth 

And  Death  in  my  open  door. 


SONG 

I  COME  across  the  sea, 
(O  ship,  ride  fast)  ! 
True  heart,  I  sail  to  thee ; 

Sail  home  at  last. 
Yet  ships  there  are  that  never  reach  their  haven, 

Though  glad  they  sail ; 
And  hoarse  laments  of  curlew  and  sea-raven 
Haunt  every  gale. 

My  ship  lies  at  the  pier 
(The  tide's  at  turn)  ; 
No  place  she  hath  for  fear 

From  prow  to  stern. 
O  Love,  the  soul  shall  never  miss  its  haven, 

Though  it  sail  far, 

Nor  hoarse  laments  of  curlew  and  sea-raven 
May  reach  yon  star. 


SONG 

LAUGHTER  that  ringeth  all  day  long 

In  a  world  of  dancing  feet; 
A  heart  attuned  to  a  bird's  wild  song, 

As  eager,  as  wayward  and  sweet. 
Love,  passing  by,  drew  near  and  smiled : 
"  Ah,  dear  Love,  wait,  she  is  a  child  !  " 
Reluctantly  he  went  his  way : 
"  I  shall  come  back  another  day." 

A  heavier-drooping  lid,  a  line 

Gentler  in  curving  cheek  and  chin ; 
Lips  where  joys  tremble,  where  hopes  shine ; 

And  something  more  —  a  storm  within, 
A  heart  that  wakes  to  sudden  fears, 
And  eyes  that  know  the  use  of  tears  : 
"  Ah,  cruel  Love  !  to  come  and  teach 
A  pain  that  knows  nor  name  nor  speech  ! " 

Love  stands  aggrieved  :  "  Farewell,  I  go  ! 
Take  back  thy  child- heart's  unconcern." 
D  33 


34  SONG 

"  Nay,  nay  !     Thou  shalt  not  leave  me  so  !  " 

She  holds  him  fast  with  tears  that  burn. 
"  Sweet  Love,  I  pray  thee  to  abide. 
If  thou  walk  constant  at  my  side, 
Through  doubt,  through  sorrow,  through  despair, 
No  pain  can  be  too  hard  to  bear." 


SONG 

LADY  mine,  so  passing  fair, 

Would 'st  thou  roses  for  thy  hair? 

Would'st  thou  lilies  for  thy  hand? 

Bid  me  pluck  them  where  they  stand. 

Those  are  warm  and  red  to  see, 

These  are  cold.     Are  both  like  thee? 

Brow  of  lily,  lip  of  rose, 

Heart  that  no  man  living  knows  ! 

If  one  knelt  beside  thy  feet, 

Would'st  thou  spurn,  or  love  him,  Sweet? 


35 


SONGS   FROM   AN   UNPRINTED   POEM 


HAST  seen  the  blue  wave  sleeping,  sleeping, 

By  gentle  winds  caressed? 
Hast  seen  the  far  moon  ceaseless  keeping 

Her  watch  above  its  rest? 

Hast  seen  the  pale  moths  drift  together 

With  winged  seeds  wind-sown? 
Hast  seen  the  falling  of  gull's  feather, 

Or  leaf  from  wild  rose  blown? 

Hast  seen  the  white  wave  dancing,  dancing, 

With  wondrous  witchery, 
Like  hers  who  rose,  men's  hearts  entrancing, 

From  out  the  sun-bright  sea? 

Lighter  than  wave,  or  leaf,  or  pinion, 

Than  circling  moth  more  fleet, 
Than  goddess  mightier  of  dominion, 

The  charm  of  rhythmic  feet. 
36 


SONGS  FROM  AN   UN  PRINT  ED  POEM        37 


O  day  thou  art  so  weary  long  ! 

O  night  so  maddening  brief! 
Swift  moments  for  life's  feast  and  song, 

Slow  hours  for  life's  grief. 

A  thousand  pearls  the  lavish  sea 

Rolls  up  to  fill  my  hands ; 
The  ebb-tide  leaves  but  shells  to  me 

Empty  upon  the  sands. 


BUD   AND   ROSE 

FOR   A    CHILD 

IT  is  so  small ! 
A  cup  of  green,  —  a  tiny  tip 
As  pink  as  is  a  baby's  lip, 

And  that  is  all. 

But  sunshine's  kiss, 
And  rain- drops  falling  warm  and  fast, 
And  coaxing  winds  will  make  at  last 

A  rose  like  this. 


A  WINTER   SONG 

ALL  the  roses  are  under  the  snow : 

Only  the  tips 
Of  the  bare,  brown,  thorny  bushes  show. 

Out  of  sight,  pretty  blossoms  sleep 
Sweet  and  sound;   there  are  left  for  me 
Fairest  of  roses,  one,  two,  three, — 

Where  do  you  think? 
On  my  baby's  cheeks  two,  pale  and  pink, 
And  one  that  is  ripe  and  red  and  deep, 

On  my  baby's  lips. 

All  the  bonnie  brown  birds  are  flown 

Far  to  the  South. 
Never  a  piping,  fluted  tone, 

Never  a  silver,  soaring  song 
From  wood-path  sounds,  or  meadow  white ; 
Yet,  in  his  hurried  southward  flight, 

Some  songster  kind 
Has  left  the  sweetest  of  gifts  behind  : 
39 


40  A    WINTER   SONG 

Music  that  ripples  all  day  long 
From  my  baby's  mouth. 

All  the  stars  have  faded  away; 
The  blue  bright  skies 
Show  not  a  golden  gleam  to-day 

Where  a  thousand  flashed  last  night ; 
But  when  the  far  lamps  blaze  again, 
For  the  brightest  you  may  look  in  vain 

(Sly  truants  two), 

Fast  hidden  away  from  me  and  you, 
Under  soft  covers  folded  tight 
In  my  baby's  eyes. 


OTHER   LYRICS 


WHITE   HEAD 

PRONE  on  the  northern  water, 
That  laps  him  about  the  breast, 

Like  the  Sphinx  in  the  sand,  forever 
The  giant  lies  in  rest. 

The  sails  drive  swift  before  him, 
And  the  surf  beats  at  his  lip, 

But  the  gray  eyes  look  out  seaward 
Noting  nor  wave  nor  ship. 

The  centuries  drift  over, 

He  marks  not  with  smile  nor  frown, 
Drift  over  him  cloud  and  sea-gull, 

Swallow  and  thistledown. 

I,  of  the  race  that  passes, 

Quick  with  its  hope  and  its  fear, 

Lean  on  his  brow  and  question, 
Plead  at  his  senseless  ear : 
43 


44  WHITE  HEAD 

"What  of  thy  past  unmeasured? 

And  what  of  the  peoples  gone? 
What  of  the  sea's  first  singing? 

What  of  the  primal  dawn? 

"What  was  the  weird  that  bowed  thee? 

How  did  the  struggle  cease? 
Out  of  what  Titan  anguish 

Issued  thy  hopeless  peace?" 

Nothing  the  pale  lips  utter, 

What  hath  been,  nor  what  shall  be ; 

Under  the  brow's  stern  shadow, 
The  gray  eyes  look  to  sea. 

The  blue  glows  round  and  over, 
Thin-veiled,  as  it  were  God's  face ; 

I  feel  the  breath,  the  spirit, 
That  knows  nor  time  nor  space. 

And  my  heart  grieves  for  the  giant 

In  his  pitiful  repose, 
Mocked  by  the  vagrant  gladness 

Of  a  laggard  brier- rose  ; 


WHITE  HEAD  45 

Mocked  to  his  face  from  seaward 
By  the  flash  and  whirl  of  wings ; 

Mocked  from  the  grass  above  him, 
By  life  that  creeps  and  sings. 

I  care  not  for  his  wisdom, 

His  secret  unconfessed ; 
I  yearn  toward  rose  and  cricket, 

Ephemeral  and  blest. 

Ah  !  if  he  might,  how  would  he 

Quicken  to  love  and  to  tears ; 
For  my  immortal  minute 

Barter  his  endless  years  ! 

He  rests  on  the  restless  water, 

And  I  on  the  grasses  brown, 
Drift  over  us  cloud  and  sea-gull, 

Swallow  and  thistledown. 


CASCO  BAY. 


VESPERS 

THE  robins  call  me  sweet  and  shrill : 

"  Come  out  and  fare  afield ; 
The  sun  has  neared  the  western  hill, 
The  shadows  slip  down  sure  and  still, 
But  in  our  meadow  wide  and  wet 
There's  half  an  hour  of  sunshine  yet; 

Come    down,  come   down  ! "      Who  would    not 
yield  ? 

Across  the  road  and  through  the  lane, 

Where  buttercups  grow  tall  and  bright 
With  daisies  washed  in  last  night's  rain, — 
Beyond  the  open  bars  I  gain 
An  angle  of  the  rude  rail-fence, 
A  perfect  coign  of  vantage,  whence 

Wheat-field  and  pasture  stretch  in  sight. 

The  cows,  with  stumbling  tread  and  slow, 
One  after  one  come  straggling  by, 
46 


VESPERS  47 

And  many  a  yellow  head  falls  low, 

And  many  a  daisy's  scattered  snow, 
Where  the  unheeding  footsteps  pass, 
Is  crushed  and  blackened  in  the  grass, 
With  brier  and  rue  that  trampled  lie. 

Sweet  sounds  with  sweeter  blend  and  strive : 

In  its  white  prime  of  blossoming 
Each  wayside  berry-bush,  alive 
With  myriad  bees,  hums  like  a  hive ; 
The  frogs  are  loud  in  ditch  and  pool, 
And  songs  unlearned  of  court  or  school 
June's  troubadours  all  round  me  sing. 

Somewhere  beneath  the  meadow's  veil 

The  peewee's  brooding  notes  begin ; 
The  sparrows  chirp  from  rail  to  rail; 
Above  the  bickering  swallows  sail, 

Or  skim  the  green  half-tasselled  wheat 
With  plaintive  cry;  and  at  my  feet 
A  cricket  tunes  his  mandolin. 

High-perched,  a  master-minstrel  proud, 

The  red-winged  blackbird  pipes  and  calls, 
One  moment  jubilant  and  loud, 


48  VESPERS 

The  next,  to  sudden  silence  vowed, 
Seeks  cover  in  the  marsh  below ; 
Soft  winds  along  the  rushes  blow, 
And  like  a  whisper  twilight  falls. 


GABRIEL 

"That  annunciation  named  death." 

"  I  KNOW  thee  Angel,  though  thou  dost  not  wear, 
As  thou  wast  wont,  the  glory  and  the  gold 
That  smote  upon  the  poet's  gaze  of  old. 

Thou  Messenger!    What  tidings  dost  thou  bear? 

"  I  know  thee  winged  and  vested  thus  in  gray, 
Not  clouds  of  heaven  and  night  of  earth  disguise 
The  light  supernal  of  thine  awful  eyes. 

O  Angel,  linger,  speak  to  me  who  pray  !  " 

Almost  I  seemed  to  hold  and  to  let  slip 

The  angel's  robe ;   I  know  the  gray  wings  cast 
Shadow  about  me  ;  yet  he  smiled  and  passed, 

That  word  of  God  a-quiver  on  his  lip. 

When  morning  came,  one  died  whom  I  held  dear ; 

The  angel's  smile  lay  on  his  quiet  face ; 

For  him  who  pleaded  not  had  been  the  grace, 
The  word  ineffable  I  wait  to  hear. 
E  49 


THOUGH   UNSEEN 

FROM  the  dwelling-place  of  the  Holy  Dead 
Wilt  thou  come  back  to  me? 
O  Love,  it  is  far 
To  that  glad,  great  star 
Whose  shining  hath  hidden  thee  ! 
"  Neither  in  star  nor  sun,"  she  said, 

Her  voice  as  it  oft  had  been, 
"The  dwelling-place  of  the  Holy  Dead, 
Nor  dreamer  nor  saint  hath  seen." 

Lost  Love  of  mine,  where  we  walked  of  yore 
Thy  feet  made  hallowed  ground  ; 
Now  earth  is  earth, 
Here  are  death  and  birth, 
But  where  is  the  glory  found? 
Low  at  my  side  her  voice  once  more, 

"  Dull  are  thine  eyes,"  she  said ; 
"Walk  with  me  now  as  we  went  of  yore," 
And  I  walk  with  the  Holy  Dead. 
5° 


SANGRAAL 

TASTING  the  wine  of  death  he  found  it  sweet; 
Drank  deeper  draughts  and  only  smiled  the  more 
As  if  he  touched  the  hand  that  held  the  cup, 
As  if  he  saw  the  Christ  look  down  on  him, 
Content  he  whispered,  "  Lord,  I  drink  to  thee." 


WHEN    NATURE    HATH    BETRAYED    THE 
HEART  THAT   LOVED    HER 

THE  gray  waves  rock  against  the  gray  sky-line, 
And  break  complaining  on  the  long  gray  sand, 
Here  where  I  sit  who  cannot  understand 

Their  voice  of  pain  nor  this  dumb  pain  of  mine ; 

For  I,  who  thought  to  fare  till  my  days  end, 
Armed  sorrow-proof  in  sorrow,  having  known 
How  hearts  bleed  slow  when  brave  lips  make  no 
moan, 

How  Life  can  torture,  how  Death  may  befriend 

When  Love  entreats  him  hasten,  —  even  I, 
Who  feared  no  human  anguish  that  may  be, 
I  cannot  bear  the  loud  grief  of  the  sea ; 

I  cannot  bear  the  still  grief  of  the  sky. 


IN   APRIL 

ALL  day  the  grass  made  my  feet  glad ; 

I  watched  the  bright  life  thrill 
To  each  leaf-tip  and  flower-lip ; 

Swift  winds  that  swept  the  hill, 
In  garden  nook  light  lingering,  shook 

The  budding  daffodil. 

I  know  not  if  the  earth  have  kept 

Work-day  or  festival : 
The  sparrow  sings  of  nestling  things, 

Blithely  the  robins  call ; 
And  loud  I  hear,  from  marsh-pools  near, 

The  hylas  at  nightfall. 


53 


A   LAND-WIND 

THE  lichen  rustles  against  my  cheek, 
But  the  heart  of  the  rock  is  still ; 

With  chattering  voice  the  cedars  speak, 
Crouched  gray  on  the  barren  hill. 

A  land-wind  snarls  on  the  cliffs  sheer  edge, 

Below,  the  smitten  sea 
Comes  fawning  over  a  sunken  ledge, 

And  cowers  whimperingly. 

In  the  sultry  wood  lies  a  restless  hush, 
Not  a  twitter  falls  from   the  sky ; 

Hidden  are  swallow,  sparrow  and  thrush, 
And  the  sea-birds  only  cry. 


54 


AT  SEA 

So  many  eves  the  sun  must  sink  within 
The  westward  plain  of  shoreless,  homeless  sea; 
So  many  morns,  as  if  from  heaven  to  heaven, 
From  out  the  widening  water  in  the  east 
The  sun  must  rise ;  so  many  summer  days, 
Full  in  the  face  of  the  unveiled  sky, 
The  ship  must  float,  till  even  the  strongest  gull, 
Deserting,  wheels  to  track  a  land-bound  sail. 
So  many  days  !     Yet  there  shall  come  a  day  — 
Some  golden,  holy,  August  afternoon  — 
When,  tired  of  sea  at  eve  and  sea  at  morn, 
The  sun  shall  droop  like  a  contented  child, 
And  sleep  among  the  cradling  hills  of  home. 


55 


FEBRUARY 

LAST  night  I  heard  a  robin  sing  • 

And  though  I  walked  where  woods  were  bare, 

And  winds  were  cold,  life  quivered  there, 
As  if  in  sleep  the  heart  of  spring 
Were  moved  to  dim  remembering. 

To-day  no  promise  haunts  the  air; 

I  find  but  snow  and  silence  where 
Last  night  I  heard  a  robin  sing. 


GHOSTS 

I  SLEPT  last  night  and  dreamed, 

I  woke  and  cried, 
For  in  my  sleep  it  seemed 

Close  by  my  side, 
Walked  still  and  slow  the  old  days  that  have  died. 

All  ghostly  slow  they  passed, 

All  ghostly  still; 
Of  old  who  fled  so  fast, 

With  life  a-thrill, 
With  laughing  lips  and  eyes,  with  eager  will 

So  ghostlike,  yet  the  same, 
Each  dear  dead  day, 
Softly  I  called  her  name 
And  bade  her  stay ; 
Softly  she  turned  and  smiled  and  went  her  way. 


57 


SLEEP 

DEAR  gray-eyed  Angel,  wilt  thou  come  to-night? 

Spread  the  soft  shadow  of  thy  sheltering  wings, 
And  banish  every  hint  of  thought  and  light, 

And  all  the  clamoring  crowd  of  waking  things? 
Wilt  thou  bend  low  above  wide  weary  eyes, 
As  o'er  the  worn  world  bend  the  tireless  skies? 


THE   WATCHER  AND   THE  WIND 

THE  WATCHER 

WILD  singer  at  my  casement,  be  thou  still ! 

In  pity  let  me  sleep ; 
For  I  am  weary,  and  thy  voice  is  shrill; 

We  have  no  tryst  to  keep. 
Go  on  thy  way ;  to  gladder  hearts  than  mine 

Thy  song  perchance  were  glad ; 
To  me  if  thou  must  come,  come  with  sunshine, 

For  night  is  over  sad. 

THE  WIND 

Nay  listen,  listen  thou  so  fretfully  pleading  for  rest; 

Those  whom  I  rock  may  sleep : 
I  rock  drowned  men  in  ocean  cradled  deep, 

And  birds  in  frozen  nest. 


59 


THE   MADONNA 

THE  years  may  enter  not  her  shrine ; 
Forever  fair  and  young  she  stands, 
And  with  her  gracious,  girlish  hands 

Folds  tenderly  the  child  divine. 

Her  lips  are  warm  with  mother-love 
And  blessedness,  and  from  her  eyes 
Looks  the  mute,  questioning  surprise 

Of  one  who  hears  a  voice  above 

Life's  voices,  —  from  the  throng  apart, 
Listens  to  God's  low-whispered  word 
(Strange  message  by  no  other  heard), 

And  keeps  his  secret  in  her  heart. 

Sweet  maiden-mother,  years  have  fled 

Since  the  great  painter  dropped  his  brush, 
Left  earth's  loud  praise  for  heaven's  kind  hush, 

While  men  bewailed  him,  early  dead, — 
60 


THE  MADONNA  61 

Yet  mothers  kneel  before  thee  still 
Uplifting  happy  hearts ;  or,  wild 
With  cruel  loss,  reach  toward  thy  child 

Void  arms  for  the  Christ-love  to  fill. 

Time  waits  without  the  sacred  spot 

Where  fair  and  young  the  mother  stands; 
Time  waits,  and  bars  with  jealous  hands 

The  door  where  years  may  enter  not. 


PAN   AND   PSYCHE 

(A   PAINTING    BY   SIR   EDWARD    BURNE-JONES) 

SWEET  Psyche,  hath  thy  quest  of  Love 
So  led  thee  to  a  sterile  land, 
Only  to  grief  and  fear  at  last? 
What  stranger  this  who  bends  above 
Thy  beauty?     What  unshapely  hand 
Hides  in  the  glory  of  thy  hair? 
Pale  wanderer,  thy  long  sorrows  past, 
May  find  no  solace  in  those  eyes, 
Though  wistfully  they  scrutinize 
Thy  face,  and,  dimly,  know  it  fair. 

Go  thou  thy  way  bright  Love  to  find  ; 
And  in  the  bliss  of  his  embrace 
Thou  shalt  forget  Pan's  dusky  face. 
Go  thou  thy  way  bright  Love  to  find ; 
While  Pan,  forsaken,  like  a  brute 
62 


PAN  AND  PSYCHE  63 

Turns  to  his  fare  of  nut  and  root; 
Yet  change  hath  passed  on  the  dark  mind : 
Nor  god  nor  beast  now,  from  his  flute 
Low  human  music  haunts  the  wind. 


A  SMILING  DEMON   OF   NOTRE   DAME 

QUIET  as  are  the  quiet  skies 
He  watches  where  the  city  lies 
Floating  in  vision  clear  or  dim 
Through  sun  or  rain  beneath  his  eyes ; 
Her  songs,  her  laughter  and  her  cries 
Hour  after  hour  drift  up  to  him. 

Her  days  of  glory  or  disgrace 

He  watches  with  unchanging  face ; 

He  knows  what  midnight  crimes  are  done ; 

What  horrors  under  summer  sun ; 

And  souls  that  pass  in  holy  death 

Sweep  by  him  on  the  morning's  breath. 


Alike  to  holiness  and  sin 
He  feels  nor  alien  nor  akin; 
64 


A   SMILING  DEMON  OF  NOTRE   DAME       65 

Five  hundred  creeping  mortal  years 
He  smiles  on  human  joy  and  tears, 
Man-made,  immortal,  scorning  man; 
Serene,  grotesque  Olympian. 


THE  COMMON   CHORD 

A  POET  sang,  so  light  of  heart  was  he, 

A  song  that  thrilled  with  joy  in  every  word  ; 

It  quivered  with  ecstatic  melody ; 

It  laughed  as  sunshine  laughs  upon  the  sea ; 
It  caught  a  measure  from  each  lilting  bird ; 

But  though  the  song  rang  out  exultantly, 

The  world  passed  by,  with  heavy  step  and  loud, 
None  heeding,  save  that,  parted  from  the  crowd, 
Two  lovers  heard. 

There  fell  a  day  when  sudden  sorrow  smote 
The  poet's  life.     Unheralded  it  came, 

Blotting  the  sun-touched  page  whereon  he  wrote 

His  golden  song.     Ah  !  then,  from  all  remote, 
He  sang  the  grief  that  had  nor  hope  nor  name 

In  God's  ear  only;  but  one  sobbing  note 

Reached  the  world's  heart,  and  swiftly,  in  the  wake 
Of  bitterness  and  passion  and  heart-break, 
There  followed  fame. 
66 


DESTINY 

A  NOISOME  thing  that  crawls  by  covert  path, 
For  glad,  unfearing  feet  to  lie  in  wait ; 

No  part  in  summer's  fellowship  it  hath, 
From  mirth  and  love  and  music  alienate. 

Yet  once  it  flashed  across  the  close,  brown  grass 
In  the  noon  sun,  and,  as  it  quivered  there, 

The  spell  of  beauty  over  it  did  pass, 

Making  it  kin  with  earth  and  light  and  air. 

I  knew  that  Life's  imperial  self  decrees 
That  this,  the  loathliest  of  living  things, 

By  patient  ways  of  cycled  centuries, 

Slow  creeping,  shall  at  last  attain  to  wings. 


67 


RIVER  AND   BIRD 

FLOWETH  the  river  still  and  strong; 
Flitteth  the  bird  swift-winged  along 
Its  crested  wave  with  joyous  song. 

The  bird  is  a  creature  of  air  and  light; 
Skyward  she  taketh  her  circling  flight, 
Leaving  the  broad  stream  out  of  sight. 

What  though  the  mighty  river  frets 
With  broken  voice?     Of  long  regrets 
Light  hearts  know  little.     The  bird  forgets. 

Weary  at  last  of  all  things  fair ; 
Weary  of  soaring  everywhere ; 
Weary  of  heaven,  and  earth,  and  air ; 

Discontent  in  the  song  she  sings  — 
Cometh  the  bird  from  her  wanderings 

Back  to  the  river  to  dip  her  wings. 

***** 

68 


RIVER  AND  BIRD  69 

Stealeth  the  noon-hush  far  and  wide ; 
Smileth  the  sun  on  the  river's  tide ; 

Dreameth  the  bird  in  the  shade  beside. 
#  *  *  *  * 

My  love  is  the  river  still  and  strong ; 
Thy  heart  is  the  bird  that  flits  along 
Wave  and  ripple,  with  joyous  song. 


A    JOURNEY 

UPROSE  the  Day  when  Night  lay  dead, 
She  turned  not  back  to  kiss  his  cheek, 
But  o'er  the  sombre  eastern  peak 

She  soared,  and  touched  it  into  red. 

Her  strong  wings  scattered  mist  and  cloud, 
As  swiftly  toward  the  highest  blue, 
Unhindered,  radiant,  she  flew. 

She  sang  for  joy ;  she  laughed  aloud. 

"The  midmost  heaven,"  she  cried,  "is  mine! 

The  midmost  heaven  and  half  the  earth. 

A  million  joys  I  bring  to  birth, 
Upon  a  million  lovers  shine  ! 

"  I  paint  the  grape,  I  gild  the  corn, 

I  float  the  lilies  on  the  lake, 

I  set  athrill  in  field  and  brake 
Fine  strains  of  tiny  flute  and  horn. 
70 


A   JOURNEY  71 

"  Ah,  it  is  sweet,"  she  said,  and  passed, 
Exulting  still,  down  the  sheer  slope 
Of  afternoon.     Her  heart  of  hope 

Went  with  her,  dauntless,  till,  at  last, 

Upon  the  far  low-lying  range 

Of  hills,  she  spread  a  crimson  cloud ; 
From  the  pale  mists  she  tore  a  shroud, 

And,  sinking,  faint  with  sense  of  change, 

She  seemed  to  see  a  face  bend  o'er 
With  kind,  familiar  eyes.     She  said : 
"  Can  it  be  you  I  left  for  dead  ? 

Can  it  be  Night?"  and  spoke  no  more. 

Night  wrapped  her  in  his  mantle  gray; 

He  kissed  the  quivering  lids  that  slept; 

He  bowed  his  silver  head  and  wept  — 
"  How  could  she  know,  my  love,  my  Day  ? " 


A    DREAM 

LAST  night,  what  time  dreams  wander  east  and  west, 
What  time  a  dream  may  linger,  I  lay  dead, 
With  flare  of  tapers  pale  above  my  head, 

With  weight  of  drifted  roses  on  my  breast ; 

And  they,  who  noiseless  came  to  watch  my  rest, 
Looked  kindly  down  and  gentle  sentence  said. 

One  sighed  "  She  was  but  young  to  go  to-day ;  " 
And  one  "How  fiercely  life  with  death  had  striven 
Ere  God  set  free  her  spirit,  sorrow-shriven  !  " 
One  said  "  The  children  grieve  for  her  at  play ; " 
And  one,  who  bent  to  take  a  rose  away, 

Whispered  "  Dear   love,  would  that   we   had   for 
given." 


SIDNEY   LANIER 

"  Let  my  name  perish :  the  poetry  is  good  poetry,  and  the 
music  is  good  music;  and  beauty  dieth  not,  and  the  heart  that 
needs  it  will  find  it."  —  Sidney  Lanier  (letter  to  his  wife). 

BEFORE  his  eyes  forever  shone  afar 

The  beauty  that  his  strong  soul  loved  and  sought, 

And  fast  he  followed  it  nor  looked  behind ; 

No  way  too  long,  too  rugged,  nor  too  dark 

For  his  intent,  fixed  will.     Close  after  him 

Sorrow  and  Pain  sped  on  in  swift  pursuit; 

He  felt  their  hard  hands  clutch  to  hold  him  back ; 

Their  breath  was  hot  upon  his  fevered  cheek; 

His  eyes  were  weary,  and  his  feet  dropped  blood ; 

He  fell  at  last,  and  yet,  they  were  too  late, 

For  folded  close  in  his  weak  hand  he  held 

The  prize  their  strength  was  impotent  to  wrest. 

Upon  his  forehead,  growing  white  and  chill, 

His  Love,  his  Art  laid  gentle  hands  that  blessed, 

And  on  his  spirit  fell  his  Master's  peace. 


73 


ENTRE   NOUS 

I  TALK  with  you  of  foolish  things  and  wise, 
Of  persons,  places,  books,  desires,  and  aims, 

Yet  all  our  words  a  silence  underlies, 

An  earnest,  vivid  thought  that  neither  names. 

Ah  !   what  to  us  were  foolish  talk  or  wise  ? 

Were  persons,  places,  books,  desires,  or  aims 
Without  the  deeper  sense  that  underlies, 

The  sweet  encircling  thought  that  neither  names? 


74 


COMMUNION 

DUSK  of  a  lowering  evening, 

Chill  of  a  northern  zone, 
Pitiful  press  of  worn  faces, 

And  an  exiled  heart  alone. 

Warm,  as  with  sun  of  the  tropic, 
Keen,  as  with  salt  of  the  sea, 

Sweet,  as  with  breath  of  blown  roses, 
Cometh  thy  thought  to  me. 


75 


THE   RIDER 

ONE  rode  slow  by  river  and  wood : 
Slow  and  still,  on  the  wayside  grass ; 

And  the  willows  withered  where  they  stood, 
As  they  felt  the  silent  rider  pass. 

He  drew  rein  nor  at  hut  nor  hall ; 

Only  smiled  and  rode  his  way ; 
Yet  a  strong  man  turned  him  to  the  wall ; 

And  a  child  waked  not  with  the  waking  day. 

The  rider  spurred  to  the  city  gate ; 

None  gave  him  welcome  where  he  came  ; 
Glad  eyes  grew  hard,  for  fear  and  hate, 

And  pale  lips  quivered  with  his  name. 

Slow,  again,  by  river  and  wood 

The  horseman  went  on  the  blackened  grass ; 
The  leafless  willows  shivering  stood, 

As  they  felt  the  silent  rider  pass. 
76 


A   GREETING 

MY  day  was  sordid  and  perplexed, 

Close  circled  by  the  commonplace ; 
And  late  I  walked  with  spirit  vexed, 

And  sense  of  self-disgrace ; 
For  life  and  I  were  out  of  tune ; 

I  did  not  see  the  rose-like  flush; 

I  did  not  feel  the  kindly  hush 
Of  waning  afternoon. 

Its  glory  all  around  me  lay, 

While  yet  I  paced  in  discontent ; 

When,  suddenly,  from  far  away, 
A  quivering  flash  was  sent ; 

It  thrilled  my  heart,  it  stayed  my  feet, 
A  beacon  sure  and  glad  it  shone, 
The  last  red  gleam  of  day  upon 

Your  westward  window,  Sweet. 

And  straight  I  knew  the  world  was  fair; 
I  heard  a  robin's  prophet  song ; 

•  77 


78  A   GREETING 

I  drank  the  bright  wine  of  the  air; 

My  pulse  grew  quick  and  strong ; 
Not  wasted  seemed  the  day's  work  done ; 

Not  hopeless  seemed  the  thing  I  sought ; 

The  far-off  heights  of  toil  and  thought 
Seemed  worthy  to  be  won. 


FROM   OVER-SEA 


TO 


IN  Italy  how  comes  the  spring? 
I  look  across  wide  fields  of  snow 
To  naked  woods,  and  long  to  know 
How  fair  the  shimmering  mountains  lie? 
How  warm  above  them  bends  the  sky 

Of  Tuscany? 
What  word  from  Rome  the  swallows  bring, 

Swift  sent  to  thee? 
Here  stirs  no  life  of  bud  nor  wing ; 
The  trees  by  icy  winds  are  torn ; 
And  yet  I  dream  how  flowers  are  born 

In  Italy. 

I  see  the  far,  fair  city  swim 
Through  mists  of  memory  bright  yet  dim 
Shining,  even  as  it  shone  of  old 
Through  Arno's  haze  of  subtile  gold, 
By  witchery 
79 


80  FROM  OVER-SEA 

Of  distance,  light  and  evening  spun. 
Tall  cypresses  against  the  sun 

Distinct  I  see, 

Defiling  darkly  up  the  hill, 
As  when  we  wandered  at  our  will 

In  Italy. 


TO  

Madonna  mial   if  in  truth 

Our  Raphael  from  heaven's  palaces 
Might  lean  across  the  centuries 

That  have  not  marred  his  glorious  youth, 

Nor  dimmed  the  lustre  of  his  hair, 
Nor  dulled  his  pencil,  rather  grown 
Diviner,  working  near  God's  throne, 

Even  he  might  find  a  study  fair 

As  his  last  fresco  in  the  skies, 

Might  pause  untouched  of  mortal  taint 
One  infinite  half  hour  to  paint 

The  motherhood  in  your  dear  eyes. 


APRIL 
(FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  REMY  BELLEAU) 

APRIL,  thou  art  the  smile 

That  erewhile 

Cypris  wore  ;   and  thy  birth 
Is  so  sweet  that  in  heaven 

The  gods  even 
Are  breathing  the  perfume  of  earth. 

Tis  thou,  gracious  and  mild, 

Hast  beguiled 

Those  exiles  fleet  of  wing,  — 
Exiles  long  time  afar, 

Swallows  that  are 
The  messengers  faithful  of  spring. 


82 


METEMPSYCHOSIS 

I  WATCH  thy  face,  Sweetheart,  with  half  belief 
In  olden  tales  of  the  soul's  wayfaring ; 
I  marvel  from  what  past  thy  young  eyes  bring 

Their  heritage  of  long  entailed  grief. 

I  watch  thy  face  and  soft  as  through  a  dream 
I  see  not  thee,  but  some  fair,  fated  Greek, 
Whose  carven  lips  grow  flesh  straightway  and  speak 

Stern  words  and  sad,  with  perfect  curves  that  seem 

But  as  the  cynic  sweetness  of  thy  smile, 
Set  quivering  over  tears  in  self-despite. 
Again  I  watch  by  mystic  taper-light, 

Where  a  pale  saint  doth  kneel  a  weary  while ; 

I  hear  the  murmured  passion  of  her  prayer, 
Imploring  heaven  for  boon  of  sacrifice; 
83 


84  METEMPSYCHOSIS 

I  read  behind  the  rapture  of  her  eyes 
A  look  which  thou  didst  teach  me  unaware. 


The  visions  pass ;    the  light,  but  now  so  faint, 
Flames  red  and  sudden  over  field  and  brook ; 
Thy  face  is  turned,  full  fronting  me  with  look 

Worn  never  yet  of  cynic  nor  of  saint ; 

And  now  amid  fierce  Northern  battle-glare, 
Where  wounded  heroes  wait  the  gods'  decree, 
The  Valkyr  rides,  and  o'er  her  brow  I  see 

The  floating  golden  glory  of  thy  hair. 

Sweet  spirit,  pilgrim  through  the  cycled  years, 
Dear  though  thou  art  I  may  not  bid  thee  stay ; 
I  bless  thee  whatsoever  chartless  way 

Thou  goest,  God-impelled.      I  have  no  fears. 

I  know  thou  wilt  surrender  not  to  pain ; 

Thou  wilt  look  never  forth  from  coward  eyes ; 

Thou  would'st  not  barter  truth  for  Paradise ; 
Thou  could'st  not  think   that   ease   and   peace  were 
gain. 


METEMPSYCHOSIS  85 

Far  off,  I  know,  the  darkness  shall  be  light 

For  him  who  scorneth  to  make  terms  with  Fate ; 
Far  off  for  thee,  Beloved,  there  must  wait 

The  answered  question,  and  the  finished  fight. 


A   LETTER 

THE  last  light  falls  across  your  pictured  face 
(Unanswering  sweet  face,  half  turned  away), 
Withdrawing  still,  as  down  the  west  apace 
Fades  too  the  profile  of  June's  longest  day. 
I  wonder,  did  you  watch  an  hour  ago 
While  dropped  the  sun  behind  the  mountain-line? 
And  did  you  think  how  it,  retreating  so, 
Must  blaze  along  this  level  world  of  mine? 
Love,  what  have  I  to  do  with  sunset  skies, 
How  red  soever?     All  the  world  for  me 
Spreads  eastward,  and  before  my  spirit's  eyes, 
Set  fair  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 
Doth  stand  the  distant  city  of  my  heart. 


Forgive  me  if  I  tell  myself  in  vain  : 
"There  is  no  power  in  this  wide  world  to  part 
Our  souls.     Avail  not  time  nor  space  nor  pain, 
86 


A  LETTER  87 

For  love  is  unconditioned."     Dear,  to-night 

I  am  like  an  unlessoned  child,  who  cries 

For  the  sweet  sensual  things  of  touch  and  sight ; 

I  want  to  read  the  gladness  in  your  eyes ; 

I  want  your  voice  though  but  to  speak  my  name ; 

My  heart  uncomforted,  unsatisfied, 

Hath  put  my  best  philosophy  to  shame. 

Yet  if  you  crossed  the  shadows  to  my  side, — 

No  vision,  but  your  very  self  indeed, — 

I  should  not  ask  what  kindly  fate  had  brought 

My  heart's  desire.     I  should  not  find  at  need 

Expression  for  one  eager  waiting  thought, 

Not  one  of  all  the  words  I  have  to  say. 

I  should  but  lean  my  cheek  upon  your  hand, 

And  hold  you  close,  the  old,  mute,  childish  way, 

And  you  would  comfort  me  and  understand. 

But  not  to-night,  —  I  will  be  patient,  Sweet, 
Sit  silently,  and  let  life  have  its  will. 
The  tread  of  the  last  passer  in  the  street 
Sounds  with  the  chiming  hour,  then  all  is  still, 
Save  that  the  little  fountain  in  the  park 
Sings  lazily  the  same  old  summer  song 


88  A  LETTER 

You  knew  in  quiet  nights  when  winds  lay  furled. 
I  needs  must  dream  alone  here  in  the  dark 
A  little  while,  to-morrow  go  forth  strong, 
Lifting  the  shield  of  Love  against  the  world. 


VENICE   IN   APRIL:   A   MEMORY 

A  GONDOLA  motionless  lying 

Under  the  Arsenal  wall; 

A  weary  boatman  at  stern  and  at  bow 

Supinely  stretched  half  asleep  ; 

And  you  with  eyes  merrily  deep 

Silent  to  mine  replying, 

'Tis  sweet  to  remember  how. 

We  had  floated  far  that  day, 
That  happiest  day  of  all ! 
The  circling  silver  mountain-rim 
Shut  us  safe  from  the  world  away; 
Though  eyes  we  loved  were  hurt  and  dim, 
There  came  to  us  nor  cry  nor  call, 
Where,  idle-oared,  content  we  lay 
Under  the  Arsenal  wall. 

On  the  ripple  a  quivering  crescent 
Tossed  like  a  tortured  thing, 
But,  far  above,  serene, 


90  VENICE  IN  APRIL:    A   MEMORY 

It  hung  in  the  curve  of  the  sky ; 

At  our  prow  was  the  gentle,  incessant 

Sound  of  the  waves'  caress, 

Impelled  by  the  light  breath  wandering  by 

From  some  ocean  god  unseen 

In  his  palace  of  idleness ; 

And  ever  from  two  bell- towers 

Rang  out  the  quarter- hours, 

In  broken  harmonies 

Like  the  changes  in  a  chaunt : 

Sounds  to  stay  in  one's  ears  and  haunt 

One's  dreams  with  perplexing  memories. 

Shoreward  or  seaward  making, 

The  boats  passed  lazily ; 

We  watched  one  golden  sail  that  flew 

(Its  fellow-flock  forsaking) 

Before  our  eyes  like  a  butterfly, 

Afar  where  the  sea-breeze  fresher  grew ; 

How  it  seemed  to  beckon  from  out  the  blue 

Of  the  mystical,  deepening  southern  sky, 

Till  we  longed  to  follow,  we  two  ! 

The  fair  day  loitered  to  its  close, 

The  boatmen  awakened,  the  play-time  was  done ; 


VENICE  IN  APRIL:    A   MEMORY  91 

The  wide  air  turned  to  gold  and  rose, 
And  where  we  watched  a  passing  rower, 
We  saw  the  water  run 
Drop  by  drop  from  his  gleaming  oar, 
Opal  and  pearl  and  amethyst. 

Eastward  and  westward  grew  the  light; 

San  Marco's  domes  were  floating  mist ; 

The  Campanile's  slender  height 

Stood  pale  against  one  purple  cloud, 

Down  which  the  sun  dropped  suddenly, 

Piercing  it  through  with  a  golden  shaft. 

We  were  silent  now,  none  spoke  nor  laughed ; 

Only  the  bells  anon  rang  loud, 

Ever  repeating  to  you  and  to  me : 

"  The  story  is  ended,  the  dream  is  o'er, 

You  may  carry  away  beyond  the  sea 

A  picture,  and  nothing  more." 

And  yet,  might  the  dream  of  a  dream  avail, 

'Twere  good  to  dream  it  over  again ; 

To  forget  the  years  that  lie  between, 

To  be  careless  of  heart  as  then; 

To  see  the  glow  of  that  warm  rose  light, 


92  VENICE  IN  APRIL:    A  MEMORY 

Feel  the  hush  of  that  air  serene ; 
Once  more  down  the  silvery,  far  lagune, 
Under  opal  sky  and  crescent  moon, 
To  follow  that  golden  sail. 


TO-DAY'S   DAUGHTER 

Written  for  the  Graduating  Class  at  Smith  College,  June,  1885 


0  VERY  fair  and  strong  she  stands  to-day, 

This  youngest  daughter  to  receive  her  dower ; 

1  see  the  wise  World-mother  smiling  lay 
Gift  after  gift  before  her,  bid  her  choose 
The  richest,  purest,  rarest,  lest  she  lose 

One  happiness,  one  power. 


Thou  wise  World-mother !  it  was  long  to  wait 

Hoarding    thy   treasures   while    the    slow   years 

passed, 
Keeping  thy  cherished  plan  inviolate 

With  thine  inscrutable,  sweet  smile,  until 
This  golden  hour  has  risen  to  fulfil 
Thy  dearest  wish  at  last 
93 


94  TO-DAY'S  DAUGHTER 

in 

For  this  thy  child,  a  woman  earnest-eyed, 

Who  wears  thy  gracious  favours  worthily, 
Pledges  her  honest  faith,  her  constant  pride, 
To  live  her  life  as  one  who  holds  in  trust 
God's  gold  to  give  again,  who  fearless  must 
Face  the  great  days  to  be. 

IV 

Naught  is  denied  her :  mind  alert,  intent ; 

Eyes  that  look  deep  into  the   heart  of  things; 
A  skilful  hand  to  shape ;  a  firm  will  bent 
On  purposes  that  have  no  petty  ends ; 
A  strength  that  falters  not  for  foes  nor  friends; 
A  soul  that  has  swift  wings. 


Deep  has  she  read  of  poet  and  of  priest; 
Wit  of  philosopher  and  lore  of  sage ; 
And  science,  with  its  growth  of  great  from  least, 
Who    bids  earth's  cowering,  secret   things  appear, 
And  stand  out  in  this  latter  sunshine,  clear 
As  type  upon  God's  page. 


TO-DAY* S  DAUGHTER  95 

VI 

Yet  finds  she  wiser  teachers,  friends  more  dear, 

In  shadowy  wood-path  and  on  clover  slope ; 
When  the  June  twilight  slow  and  still  creeps  near, 
And  rocks  put  on  their  purple  majesty ; 
When  stars  across  the  dark  tell  glimmeringly 
Her  happy  horoscope. 

VII 

And  sometimes,  when  the  low  moon  lies  asleep 

On   its    cloud-bed,  like  a  fair  child,  play-spent, 
Across  the  river-fields  and  up  the  steep 

Come,  silent  stealing  through  the  silver  mist, 
Strange  visitors,  whose  holy  lips  have  kissed 
Death's  own,  yet  are  content. 

VIII 

Wide  eyes  that  seem  to  bring  from  far-off  years 
Their  loves  and  hopes  and  tragedies  again; 
And  voices  sadly  cadenced  to  young  ears, 
Yet  musical  with  old-time  gentleness ; 
And  smiles  that  half  conceal  and  half  confess 
Some  unforgotten  pain. 


96  TO-DAY'S  DAUGHTER 

IX 

And  one  with  voice  that  hath  a  dauntless  ring, 

Saith,  "  From  thy  life,  Sweet,  may  the  gods  avert 
The  need  of  this  strange  gift  I  dare  to  bring, 
A  Roman  woman's  strength,  who  will  not  spare 
A  quivering  death-wound  at  the  heart  to  wear, 
And  say  it  doth  not  hurt." 


Speaketh  a  voice  whose  sound  is  of  the  sea : 

"  Oft  have  I  paced  the  beach,  while  sheer  above 
Towered  the  rocks,  waiting  immutably 
As  my  heart  waited.     From  Inarim^, 
Across  the  years,  Vittoria  brings  to-day 
Her  gift  of  tireless  love." 

XI 

As  starlight  comes  through  myriad  miles  of  space, 

Undimmed,  untarnished,  waxing  never  old, 
So  shineth  (nor  can  centuries  efface) 
One  light  set  in  the  sky  of  time  afar, 
Thy  soul,  Antigone,  that  like  a  star 
Burneth  with  flame  of  gold. 


TO-DAY'S  DAUGHTER  97 

XII 

Antigone,  what  woman  were  not  glad 

To  feel  against  her  life  the  touch  of  thine? 
To  meet  thine  eyes,  so  unafraid,  if  sad? 

To  hear  thy  words,  to  clasp  thy  potent  hand? 
To  read  thy  womanhood  as  a  command 
To  sacrifice  divine? 

XIII 

Yet  past  nor  present  can  avail  to  fill 

This  woman's  thoughts,  who  leans  and  listens  best 
To  voices  of  the  future,  calling  shrill, 

With  strain  and  stress  of  troubled  destinies, 
Content  she  leaves  her  dreams  and  reveries 
For  life's  sublime  unrest. 

XIV 

With  steadfast  step  she  walks  in  darkened  ways 
Where    women's    curses    sound,   and    children's 

cries ; 

Her  gentleness  shall  win,  her  strength  shall  raise, 
Her  love  shall  cleanse,  her  righteous  words   shall 
burn, 

H 


98  TO-DAY'S  DAUGHTER 

And  wasted,  piteous  baby-lips  shall  learn 
Glad  laughter  from  her  eyes. 

xv 

Shadow  shall  shrink,  and  sunlight  shine  for  her; 
And  love  shall  touch  her  life  like  a  caress ; 
And  loyal  human  hearts  shall  minister 

To  her  heart's  need,  who  hath  for  joy,  for  pain, 
For  sorrow's  mourning,  ay  !  and  for  sin's  stain 
Unending  tenderness. 

XVI 

Around  her  closes,  quivering  and  tense, 
Life's  narrow  circle  of  perplexities ; 
The  clamoring  hours,  the  hurrying  events  ; 

Yet    shall    she   pass    through    tumult  and    through 

crowd 

Serene,  as  one  who  hears  God's  voice  ring  loud 
Across  far  silences. 


Who  climbs  life's  mountain  walks  with  tardy  tread, 

For  love  of  flowers  that  smile  about  his  feet, 
For  love  of  pines  that  whisper  overhead, 


TO-DAY'S  DAUGHTER  99 

For  love  of  wandering  bird-calls,  shy  and   sweet ; 
Yet  where  the  birds  come  not,  beyond  the  pines, 

Past  rock  and  steep  and  cloud,  the  final  height 

Forever  rises  silent,  stainless  white, 
Where  shadow  never  falls,  where  latest  shines 

The  lingering  light. 


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